


The Tower of the (Golden) Hand

by holymemebatman (gaysandcrime)



Series: the ludicrous fairytale au [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Awkward Sexual Situations, BAMF Brienne, Brienne as Shrek, Brienne is a knight, Brienne is the Best, But Not As Much As She Regrets Writing This Story, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Happy Ending, I will make Jaime wear a dress if it is the last thing I do, It's all a bit like Shrek if I'm honest, Jaime as Fiona, Jaime is a bit of a Damsel in Distress, Jaime looks fetching in a gown, Podrick as Donkey/Puss in Boots, Swordplay (gods that sounds dirtier than i meant it to), The Author Regrets These Tags, The golden hand is a metaphor for being filthy rich, crossdressing in the best sort of way, hair extensions, hands of gold are always cold etc etc etc, sword puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:05:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysandcrime/pseuds/holymemebatman
Summary: ft a fair maiden locked away in a tower, a gallant knight with astonishing eyes and a dragon who likes wine maybe a bit too much.





	The Tower of the (Golden) Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crack!fic. You've been warned.

**Prologue: the one where everyone thinks a dragon steals the Princess, someone dies at a wedding (big surprise) and everything is accompanied by atmospheric music on the pianoforte**

 

The Prince and the future Princess walked down the aisle to the sound of joyful weeping, raucous cheering and the pianoforte. They smiled at each other happily, and came to a stop before the King and the High Septon. Their hands were clasped tightly as they kneeled with bowed heads, ready to begin the vows which would bind them in Holy Matrimony for the rest of their lives.

"Stop! I object!" The crowd turned in shock as the doors to the Sept were flung apart, and every eye in the building widened at the sight before them. The Princess stood in the open doorway, her crown tilted dangerously and her golden hair in wild disarray. Her cheeks were flushed an angry red, and her beautiful red mouth was pulled back against perfect white teeth in a snarl. Every Lord and Lady present began whispering furiously to their neighbours, hiding their mouths behind hands and fans and veils as if that made their gossip more polite.

The King stood quickly from where he had been seated and scowled. "What is the meaning of this?" He descended the platform and strode toward his daughter, his green eyes filled with fury. The Princess ignored him completely, and raised a hand to point one perfectly manicured finger at the woman still kneeling beside her twin.

"Get away from my brother, you grasping little bitch!" she screeched, and the crowd of wedding guests gasped in unison.

The King quickened his steps as his face turned an alarming shade of red, matching his daughter in fury as he bellowed, "Enough! You will hold your tongue!" His anger was dark and terrifying, causing the crowd to take a collective step back. Whoever was playing the pianoforte made the music rise in a dramatic crescendo.

But the Princess would not listen. "How _dare_ you let that harlot try and steal my brother! How dare you! Mother would never have stood for this!" She stomped her foot with every word.

Every person in the room froze at the Princesses exclamation; each and every man and woman there knew that their King hated any mention of the late Queen (Such was the shock and trepidation at this exclamation that even the pianoforte dared not make a sound).

"I dare because I am your father! I dare because I am your King!" he screamed back, taking the last few steps toward his daughter and grabbing her arms seemingly hard enough to leave bruises. "I order you to cease this little tantrum of yours, or you will be escorted back to your rooms and made to stay there!"

The Princess hissed as she tried to pull away. "Bitch! Whore! Harlot! Slut!" she screamed continuously, a steady stream of insults flowing out of her mouth, all of them directed at the young woman by her brother's side. She stopped only when the King slapped her hard enough for the sound to echo throughout the room.

An old lady took a few steps away from the crowd, her wrinkled hands clasped behind her. Her clothing was simple, unadorned but for the crown of thorny roses circling her headdress. "That 'grasping little bitch' is my granddaughter, Princess. I suggest you be very careful with your next words." Her voice was deceptively pleasant, though her eyes were cold and unforgiving, and her words were accompanied by a surprisingly playful rendition of 'Cruella de Vil' which trickled from the corner in which sat the pianoforte, this time accompanied by the rest of the band.

The King stepped back from the Princess and turned to address the woman with a short bow. "Lady Olenna, I must apologize on behalf of my daughter. It seems the Princess is not in the best of health at the moment, and needs time away to recover. Do forgive her, my lady, I'm sure she meant no disrespect." His voice was sharp and his eyes sharper, but Lady Olenna only laughed.

"I'm afraid I require an apology from the Princess directly, Your Grace, although I do thank you for your kind words." She bowed her head mockingly, saying, "I would curtsey, but my knees are not what they used to be, I fear." She raised a single eyebrow and smirked, looking the King up and down. "I'm sure you understand."

If it weren't such a witty remark, the court was certain they would've protested such an obvious insult to their King. As it was, they merely leaned forward a bit, their eyes switching between the King and Lady Olenna, as if they were watching a rather riveting jousting tourney.

Before the King could reply with something equally witty and insulting, the Princess barged back into the conversation with a stomp of her Royal foot. "I will not apologize for speaking the truth! Your granddaughter is a gold-digging whore, and if you think I will let my brother marry such a-"

She was cut off as suddenly the lights went out, plunging the entire room into an unnatural darkness pierced only by the screams of wedding guests and the wedding band once again playing a song. The screams quieted as every person strained to hear the soft and gentle notes of a vaguely familiar tune. It wasn't until the pianoforte jumped in with a bang that they all realized just what exactly they were listening to, and some fool at the back of the room began to sing in a rather haunting voice.

_"And who are you_

_the proud lord said_

_that I must bow so low..."_

Someone shouted, "Shut up!" and the voice (along with the musicians) thankfully stopped. Just as everyone was breathing a sigh of relief, an inhuman roar and the sound of beating wings made them all tense up again and jump back. The tapestries on the walls caught on fire, and there was enough light to see the frightening sight before them. A dragon, with scales of blood red and eyes the colour of wildfyre stood before them, one clawed hand crushing the obviously dead King to the floor and the other seemingly holding something tightly in its grasp. With a wild screech and a mad flapping of wings, the dragon rose into the air and crashed through the ceiling, escaping into the sky before anything could be done to stop it. It wasn't until one of the Lords who had been closest to the beast caught sight of the scrap of red silken fabric which lay on the floor that anyone even noticed that the Princess was gone.

"It's killed the King and taken the Princess!" the Lord shouted, kneeling beside the King's body as he held up the scrap of red fabric. Alongside the screams and sounds of fainting ladies, the Prince's shouts and the sound of ceiling tiles falling to the floor, came the soft strains of a song which sounded suspiciously like 'Joy to the World', although when questioned much later, not a single guest could tell you that for certain. And this is where our story begins: a search for the dragon, for the Princess, and for the naughty musician who manipulated the keys of the Royal pianoforte so well.

(I'll give you a hint: of the three, only the musician escaped.)

In all the chaos, no one noticed the figures of a young lady in white and an old lady with a crown of thorns slipping away.

 

 


End file.
